Book 1 · Chapter 3

I spotted a small group, maybe twenty people, gathered around a huge hole where the cylinder lay. I’d already described how massive that thing was, stuck in the ground. The grass and gravel around it looked scorched, like a sudden explosion had happened. Probably the impact caused a flash of fire.

Henderson and Ogilvy weren’t there. I figured they realized nothing could be done for now and had gone to breakfast at Henderson’s place. There were four or five boys sitting on the edge of the Pit, their feet dangling, and tossing stones at the giant mass - until I stopped them.

After I talked to them, they started playing tag amongst the onlookers. Among them were a couple of cyclists, a gardener I sometimes hired, a girl carrying a baby, Gregg the butcher and his little boy, and a few people who hung around the railway station. There wasn’t much talking.

Most folks in England didn’t know much about astronomy back then. They were all staring quietly at the end of the cylinder, which was still the way Ogilvy and Henderson had left it. I bet people were expecting to find a pile of burned bodies, but this inanimate bulk must have been disappointing.

Some people left while I was there, and others showed up. I climbed into the pit and thought I heard a faint movement under my feet. The top had definitely stopped rotating. It wasn't until I got close that the strangeness of this object really hit me.

At first glance, it wasn't more exciting than an overturned carriage or a tree blown across the road. Actually, it looked more like a rusty gas float.

You needed some science know-how to realize that the grey color of the Thing wasn’t a normal rust, and that the yellowish-white metal gleaming in the crack between the lid and the cylinder had a weird color. "Extra-terrestrial" didn't mean anything to most of the people watching.

At the time, I was pretty sure the Thing had come from Mars, but I didn’t think it contained any living creatures. I figured the lid might be opening automatically. Even though Ogilvy thought otherwise, I still believed there were people on Mars.

I started imagining all sorts of possibilities - maybe it contained manuscripts, or the challenges we’d face translating them, or if we’d find coins and models inside. But it was a little too big to be sure about that. I was impatient to see it opened.

Around eleven, since nothing seemed to be happening, I walked back to my home in Maybury, but I found it hard to focus on my research. In the afternoon, the common area had changed a lot.

The early editions of the evening papers had shocked London with huge headlines: "A MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM MARS! "REMARKABLE STORY FROM WOKING," and so on. Plus, Ogilvy’s message to the Astronomical Exchange had alerted every observatory in the country.

There were half a dozen cars or more from the Woking station parked along the road by the sand pits, a horse-drawn carriage from Chobham, and a fancy-looking car. There were also a ton of bicycles.

And a lot of people must have walked, even with the heat, from Woking and Chertsey, so there was a really big crowd - a few people in nice clothes were among them.

It was seriously hot, not a single cloud in the sky, and not even a breeze. The only shade came from a few scattered pine trees. The heather had burned up, but the ground towards Ottershaw was black as far as you could see, still sending up wisps of smoke.

A vendor selling treats on Chobham Road had sent his son with a cart full of green apples and ginger beer.

Heading to the edge of the pit, I saw a bunch of guys - Henderson, Ogilvy, and a tall, blond dude I later learned was Stent, the Astronomer Royal - along with a few workers using shovels and picks. Stent was giving instructions, his voice clear and high-pitched.

He was standing on the cylinder, which was definitely cooler now; his face was red and sweaty, and something had clearly ticked him off. A good chunk of the cylinder had been uncovered, even though the bottom was still buried. As soon as Ogilvy spotted me in the crowd at the pit’s edge

, he called me over and asked if I’d mind heading to Lord Hilton’s place - the owner of the manor. He said the growing crowd was a real problem for their digging, especially the kids. They wanted to put up a fence to keep people back.

He mentioned they still heard a faint rumbling inside the case, but the workers couldn't get the top off - there was nothing to grip. The case looked super thick, and those faint sounds might be a chaotic mess happening inside.

I was happy to help and ended up being one of the people allowed inside the planned area. I couldn't find Lord Hilton at his house, but I heard he was coming from London on the six o’clock train from Waterloo.

Since it was then around five thirty, I went home, had some tea, and walked up to the station to wait for him.